


hallelujah

by lalaland666 (orphan_account)



Category: Good Omens (TV)
Genre: Ambiguous Relationships, Angst, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Anxious Crowley (Good Omens), Christianity, Comforting Aziraphale (Good Omens), Could be romantic or QPP, Fluff and Angst, Gen, God doesn’t actually get any lines, God is a dick, Holding Hands, Love Confessions, Pre-Scene: Body Swap (Good Omens), Scene: The Bus Ride (Good Omens), The Fall (Good Omens), if that will upset you then please don’t read this, religious trauma, this is a fic about God being an asshole, up to you
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-19
Updated: 2020-02-19
Packaged: 2021-02-28 05:27:35
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,163
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22798564
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/lalaland666
Summary: After Armageddon fails, Crowley has more questions than ever before, and the only one who could answer them is just as infuriatingly silent as always.
Relationships: Aziraphale & Crowley (Good Omens), Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Comments: 6
Kudos: 59





	hallelujah

**Author's Note:**

> Yeah. What it says on the tin. Crowley gets pissed at God, and I back him up. 
> 
> Who knows why I wrote this? For the meta? To project my own religious trauma onto another character? To prove that I actually am capable of writing Crowley on his own? I don’t know! All I know is that this needed out, and so here we are. 
> 
> This fic is based on a very Christian perception of God as omniscient and omnipotent (but decidedly not omnibenevolent) which I feel fits the GO God fairly well. I don’t know enough about Judaism or Islam to feel comfortable working those factors into this, and my view of Christianity and their God is heavily influenced by religious trauma. In short, it ain’t good, chief. 
> 
> Again, if this interpretation might offend you, I ask you to please turn back now. I don’t want to cause any drama. 
> 
> If you’re okay with reading about asshole!God, then I hope you enjoy my mess!!

Crowley could barely stop himself from shaking. 

He was on a bus, taking Aziraphale back to his flat for the first time ever. He was sat _directly next to_ Aziraphale on said bus, while _holding_ his _hand_. And not two hours ago, he’d faced down actual Satan with a tyre iron, his angel, and an eleven-year-old boy with the power to remake the cosmos however he wanted. 

He was having a very, very hard time sitting still. 

Aziraphale seemed to be having no such issues. That was fairly typical, really. When he was nervous, Aziraphale was all fluttering hands and false laughs. When he was terrified, or exhausted, or heartbroken, Aziraphale went still, drawing into himself like a clam into its shell. Crowley was the opposite. He’d mope at anything and everything, sleep for a century over an argument, but when things got bad, he was all bluster and pomp to hide the way he felt as though he was about to vibrate out of his skin. 

He’d been doing a whole lot of blustering in the past few days. 

Aziraphale’s hand twitched– no, it squeezed, squeezed Crowley’s gently, and Crowley looked up to see that Aziraphale was smiling at him, ever so gently. 

Crowley returned the expression as best he could, squeezing his angel’s hand back. That was a dangerous road; he didn’t really want to let go already, and every inch tighter that he gripped the angel’s hand was an inch he’d have to relinquish eventually. 

He’d nearly lost Aziraphale today. 

The thought cut through the haze of Crowley’s nerves and the jittery after-effects of adrenaline like a knife, freezing his jangling foot and his heart in one. 

He’d thought Aziraphale was gone. Really, really gone. The bookshop had been on _fire_ , and there hadn’t been a body, and he couldn’t smell the sulfur but he also hadn’t been down to the properly Hellish parts of Hell in ages, maybe they had a way to hide it these days. He had thought that his angel, his only bloody constant for six thousand years, was dead forever, and he’d quite nearly drunk himself into needing a new liver over it. 

But he wasn’t gone any longer. He’d come back, and he’d found Crowley, and Adam had given him a new body and everything was okay again. Aziraphale was okay. 

Crowley gripped the angel’s hand a little bit tighter. He felt Aziraphale glance at him, but the angel didn’t pull away, didn’t move, didn’t do anything at all. 

They were both alive, both here, both headed back to London in one piece. The Earth wasn’t on fire, or a nuclear wasteland. Heaven and Hell would both be after them, but at least they weren’t tearing the cosmos apart fighting each other. 

They’d gotten so fucking close. 

Crowley couldn’t hold back a shudder at that, and Aziraphale glanced at him again, but neither of them said anything. 

If anything had gone wrong on that airfield… if Adam had been anything other than what he was, if the other kids had been any less stupidly brave, if Madame Tracy hadn’t stopped Aziraphale from killing the kid (Crowley had made him do it, and that thought sank straight through Crowley’s head to settle like a weight in his stomach), if Book Girl’s idiot boyfriend hadn’t done whatever it was he’d done with the computers, if Aziraphale had been even a smidgen less brilliant, less brave… 

They’d been seconds away from Armageddon. From the End of All Things. From a War that could never possibly have a victor– at best, it would wage eternal, and at worst, it would destroy both sides. There would have been nothing left. 

_Did_ the Almighty plan it like this? 

Had She really meant for Armageddon to go through? Did She want to watch the whole bloody world and everything on it burn? Crowley didn’t think so– if She had, She could have stopped them. Could have tossed Aziraphale out of Heaven, like She’d done with the rest of them. Could have smote Crowley from existence. Could have rewritten the universe so neither of them had ever existed in the first bloody place. 

If She’d never wanted the world to end, if She’d meant for them to just-barely stop it… 

Well, that wasn’t much better, was it? If everything was going _according to Plan_. He’d meant it, what he’d said at the bandstand. 

Well, not all of it. 

Some of it. That part about the Plan, he’d meant that in its entirety. Great, pustulant, mangled bollocks to the Great blasted Plan, and to the Ineffable Plan too. It was all so bloody _cruel_. 

She could have stopped it. And he didn’t just mean Armageddon. He meant _all_ of it. She could’ve stopped the War, could’ve stopped the millions upon millions of atrocities that the humans had committed– the murders, the wars, the genocides, the slavery, every last bit of it. She could’ve stopped it. And even if stupid free will meant that She couldn’t stop the humans from butchering each other, She could certainly have made the rest of it a little bit less painful! Cancer and plagues and natural bloody disasters didn’t have any free will to impose upon. She could have been merciful, an infinite number of times. She could have been _kind_. 

She never was. 

No, She’d done the opposite. She’d drowned a quarter of the sodding planet for– what, exactly? Because they’d gotten a little trigger-happy down in Mesopotamia? It wasn’t anything that couldn’t have been _solved_. Humans were incredible, you could teach them bloody anything, She could have taught them not to fucking kill each other instead of drowning the lot of them. 

And it wasn’t the first time She’d taken the easy way out. Even if She didn’t agree with Lucifer, She hadn’t needed to… to… 

Crowley bit back another shudder, staring resolutely out of the window. He’d been cast out, just for wanting to know what was so bloody important about the Earth and the humans when there was an entire universe for them to play in. For wanting to know why pain and suffering _needed_ to be part of the Plan. 

He’d never gotten an answer. 

The humans tried to make them up. Tried to say that pain made people stronger, made them better. That was fucking bullshit. The Flood hadn’t made anyone better. The Fall had made the demon’s _worse_. 

Well. At least, he thought it had. He couldn’t be entirely sure, really. 

He’d never been entirely clear on some things that Heaven had done. On whether the destruction of Sodom and Gomorrah had really been orders from On High, or just Sandalphon taking some “initiative”. On what, exactly, the Archangels had been doing to Aziraphale for six thousand years to make him _so afraid_. 

Beelzebub and Gabriel had stood there, side by side, on the stupid airfield, and the only difference between the two of them had been aesthetics. 

And that, too, almost made it worse. If the Fall wasn’t a punishment for being evil and cruel, but a punishment for being independent. If cruelty and violence as alright, so long as it was for the “right reasons”. Hadn’t Aziraphale as much as said that was Heaven’s policy, a few days ago? 

God wasn’t talking to any of them. Today had pretty solidly confirmed that. Crowley didn’t know where She’d gone. All that he knew was that She knew what was happening. There was nothing in all of Creation that She couldn’t know– after all, She’d made all of it. There was nothing in Creation that was powerful enough to stop Her, should She ever, _ever_ decide to interfere to do some bloody _good_. 

Instead, She killed entire cities, entire _regions_. Instead, She rained down destruction and death and didn’t bloody _talk_ to _anyone_. Instead, She sent down a messenger to be tortured and _killed_ in a horrible, sickening way, just for his message to get warped and twisted to justify even more killing, more torture, more endless, endless tragedy. 

A lot of the humans thought that She was kind. _Aziraphale_ thought that She was kind. 

Crowley knew better. He knew how humans could twist themselves, seeming just kind enough to get by while actually being absolute fucking monsters. And, after all, She’d made them in Her image. What did it say about Her that they seemed to have come up with kindness and mercy all on their own? 

Crowley didn’t _think_ God had interfered much recently. Seemed like She’d decided to start taking a step back, and letting Heaven and Hell and humanity figure their own shit out. 

Best as he could figure, that meant that either She was bored, or She had decided to sit back and watch the show. 

Honestly, the first would have been better. It would’ve meant that they’d been left to their own devices, really and truly, at least for a little while. 

Somehow, Crowley doubted it. 

It didn’t really seem like Her style, honestly. Just deciding to throw Her hands up and walk away. Seemed much more likely that She’d put all Her pieces in place, and was now sitting back to watch the carnage unfold. 

Well, he hoped that She was fucking _entertained_. 

There was a tug on Crowley’s hand, jolting him out of his reverie, and he looked up to see that Aziraphale was staring at him, and that the bus had stopped. 

“Are you alright, my dear?” Aziraphale asked softly. 

Crowley nodded, not quite trusting himself to speak yet. Instead, he stood up, careful not to let go of Aziraphale’s hand as he did– he would, of course, if the angel drew away, but he wasn’t about to pull away first under any circumstances– and let the angel lead them both off of the bus. 

They snapped simultaneously to tip the driver, and then smiled awkwardly at each other when they realised what they’d done. 

Crowley led Aziraphale up to his flat. It still stank of ozone-holiness and leftover demon residue in here, and Crowley wrinkled his nose at it. 

They stood for a long moment in the foyer, neither willing to let go of the other, neither sure what came next. 

Aziraphale broke the silence first. “Our– Heaven and Hell won’t stand for what we did.” 

“Don’t expect they will, no,” Crowley said, frowning. “What d’you think they’ll do?” 

“I don’t… I doubt they intend to let us live.” 

Crowley’s hand spasmed in Aziraphale’s, and the angel drew back, not stepping away. 

“I won’t let them,” Crowley said, his voice thick in his throat, his hands clenching into fists to keep them from shaking, or worse, grabbing onto Aziraphale. “I won’t– I’m not gonna lose you again. I won’t let them bloody _touch_ you, angel, I promise.” 

Aziraphale let out a nervous sort of laugh. “I don’t… I don’t think that it’s a matter of _letting_ them, dear. I’ve been thinking about the prophecy, but I… I can’t seem to work it out.” 

“That’s alright,” Crowley said. “We’ll do it. We’ll get out of this, too.” 

“Oh, Crowley,” Aziraphale said, his eyes shining, and then he bit his lip, like he was holding himself back from saying more. 

Crowley kept talking, the panic rising in his chest and spilling out of his mouth. “We can do this. Yeah? We’ve already fucked up Satan’s plans today, and God’s plans, too– at least, the ones She wrote down, who the fuck knows what’s going on with Her stupid bloody ineffable plans and who the fuck cares– but if we can outmaneuver actual God and Satan we can bloody beat Heaven and Hell, too. We can do this.” 

“Dear,” Aziraphale said softly. “I… just in case…” 

“No,” Crowley said, shaking his head. “No, angel, no ‘just in case’, none of that. We’ll get through this, we always have, we saved the bloody world and I’m not gonna let them kill us after that–“ 

“Crowley!” Aziraphale broke in. “I might… I might have an idea. But I’ve no idea if it will work. It very well might not. And if it doesn’t– I can’t die in good conscience without telling you, first, and I– Crowley, I love you.” 

And at that, Crowley’s resolve broke. He reached out and wrapped his arms around Aziraphale, tugging him close, squeezing him so tightly that it must have hurt, but then Aziraphale responded in kind, pulling him in, and Crowley let out a sound that was partly a gasp and partly a sob and partly something he couldn’t even begin to identify. 

“I am _not going to let you die_ ,” he snarled into Aziraphale’s hair. “I love you, angel, I love you, I love you _so bloody much_ , and I am not going to let anybody kill you, not Heaven, not Hell, not bloody God Herself.” 

At that, Aziraphale let out a weak chuckle. “I… I doubt there’s much we could do, if She wanted us dead.” 

“Don’t fucking care,” Crowley said, and now his snarling was edging dangerously close to tears. “She’s taken bloody enough from me, from all of us. She’s hurt too many people. I am not going to let Her hurt you, too, angel, I _won’t_.” 

Aziraphale just held Crowley tighter, humming softly, turning his head ever so slightly to press the faintest kiss to Crowley’s temple– to his tattoo. 

And Crowley shattered. 

“Angel,” he sobbed,” collapsing into Aziraphale, who held him up with ease. “Angel, I just… if She planned it like this, that means… that means the Fall, and the War, and the– kicking them out of Eden, and Abel, and the Flood and Sodom and Egypt and the Americas and the World Wars and the Spanish bloody Inquisition– I know you still love Her, and I’m sorry, but I– how could She? How could She do any of that? How could anyone want any of that?” 

Aziraphale hummed again, rubbing gentle circles into Crowley’s back. “My dearest. You have every right to be angry at Her. After all She’s done to you… well, to be quite frank, I’m rather upset with Her, too.” 

Crowley lifted his head, panic flaring through him. “Angel, no. Don’t want you to get in trouble.” 

“I do think it’s rather too late for that,” Aziraphale said softly, drawing back ever so slightly and cupping Crowley’s face with his hand. “My dear. My dearest. Crowley. I… I don’t have any explanation for you. I’m sorry. I’m so very sorry. I wish, so desperately, that I did. That I could make this right. That I could heal the hurt that She has caused, not just to you, but to everyone, to Heaven and Hell and Earth. But the only one who could possibly do that… well, you said it, earlier today. She’s not talking to any of us.” He let out a soft, bitter laugh at that. “You were quite right, my dear. For whatever reason… She has decided to leave us well enough alone for now. I can’t possibly say why, any more than I can tell you why She Flooded the Earth, or why She cast you out of Heaven. All any of us can possibly do is persevere.” He leaned forwards then, kissing Crowley’s forehead. “I hold out hope that it’s a good reason, but... but I understand completely if you don’t. After everything...” 

“M’sorry,” Crowley mumbled, closing his eyes against Aziraphale’s gaze, burning in its intensity even through Crowley’s sunglasses. 

“Don’t be,” Aziraphale said, his voice achingly gentle. “You have _every right_ to be upset. To not have faith in Her any longer.” 

“Gotta be hard,” Crowley said. “Loving someone with no faith left.” 

“Not at all,” said Aziraphale. “As a matter of fact, it’s the easiest thing I’ve ever done. I _love_ you, Crowley. I love you ever so much. More than anything. More than Her.” 

“Angel, no,” Crowley croaked, his eyes flying open as the panic flared again. “Angel, don’t, you’ll–“ 

“I won’t Fall,” Aziraphale said softly. “And if I do, well… I’d rather Fall, and be with you, than stay in Heaven alone. I’m so sorry that it took me so very long to realize that.” 

“Angel, no,” Crowley said, crushing Aziraphale close again, burying his face in the crook of the angel’s neck, breathing in his scent– the sandalwood cologne and the dust of old books and the sweet warmth of cocoa and the faint scent of a vast and incomprehensible power underneath it all. “Don’t be sorry. I… I was stupid, too. I wanted to run away, to abandon it all…” 

“You were frightened,” Aziraphale said. “As you had every right to be. I was, too. I… I still am.” 

“We’ll survive,” Crowley promised again. “Fuck Heaven, and fuck Hell, and fuck Satan, and fuck God, too.” 

“Our own side,” Aziraphale murmured. 

“Yes,” Crowley said, and the word came out as half a sob as tears pricked the corners of his eyes, and he tugged his glasses off and tossed them away, not caring in the least where they landed. “Our own side. Just us. I love you, angel, I love you, I love you. I love you. I’m not going to let fucking anybody take you away from me. Take _this_ away from _us_.” 

“Neither shall I,” said Aziraphale softly, and the very air seemed to hum with the promise of it. 

Crowley drew back, wiping furiously at his tears. “You said… you said you had a plan. What is it?” 

“As I said, it very well might not work.” 

“You’re the cleverest angel I know. Cleverest _anything_ I know. If anyone can come up with something, it’ll be you.” 

“Well, as we’ve established, I’m also quite stupid,” Aziraphale said with a soft laugh. 

“You’re not,” Crowley said, shaking his head firmly. “You’re not. I didn’t– I didn’t really mean it.” 

“You did,” Aziraphale said. “And that’s alright. I _was_ being stupid. The Almighty won’t help us. She hasn’t actually _helped_ anyone in a very, very long time. It was stupid of me to think otherwise. No, just as before, just as with everyone and everything else, we shall have to help ourselves.” 

He drew back again, cupping Crowley’s face gently, staring at him– at _all_ of him. The good and the bad. 

And Crowley stared back, and– for the first time since boarding that bloody bus– felt a flicker of hope in his chest. 

God was still fucked. And if She decides that She wasn’t done playing with them, wasn’t done punishing them, then there would be pretty much nothing either he or Aziraphale could do to stop Her. 

No, they couldn’t stop Her. But they could face Her together. Whatever came next, they’d take it on side by side. Hand in hand. Their own side. It didn’t matter what She had planned for them– they had _chosen_ each other. And they could take Her stupid fucking Plans on together. 

“Right,” he said. “So, angel, what’s the plan?”

**Author's Note:**

> I hope that you guys liked this!! Comments and kudos absolutely fuel me, so please leave as many as you like! Thank you!!!!


End file.
